


we belong way down below

by fairest



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Leonard-Whump, Leonard-centric, Like a smidge, Most of the characters are just mentioned, Post 1x16, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, until the very end at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairest/pseuds/fairest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard's head hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we belong way down below

**Author's Note:**

> Is it clear I'm not over this stupid show yet.

Something feels off.

Leonard looks at the diamond, newly relieved from its now prior owner, and expects to feel the same addictive rush of endorphins that has long since been his drug of choice. It doesn't come.

“What's with the face?” Mick barks, re-emerging from the kitchen with two beers in hand. Leonard doesn't expect to be offered but one gets shoved into his hand anyway. He blinks and then shoots Mick a suspicious look but he doesn't seem to notice.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, cracking the lid. His head is beginning to throb.

 

* * *

 

Leonard slides onto the least rickety stool in his favor bar and tries not to wince when his temples pound against the sides of his skull.

The dive has never been super crowded and now is no different. It's only a moment later that a cod bottle of his preferred beer slides down the counter and perfectly into his hand. “Hey, Snart,” the blonde behind the bar says, leaning a hip against the wood as she wipes a visibly dirty glass with an arguably dirtier rag.

“Sara,” he replies, taking a sip. She's always known his favorite beer, even though he's pretty sure he's never told her.

She cocks an eyebrow at him. “Rough day?”

“Something like that,” is all he admits to. As much as he likes Sara, he isn't the type to confide.

There's a knowing glint in her eyes that he isn't sure he likes but she nods. “Fair enough.” Luckily for him, she isn't the type to pry.

He tips his bottle towards her when she leaves to tend to another customer and pulls from the bottle again. He's already regretting having come tonight and is almost tempted to leave. There's a pair of guys in the back who look incredibly out of pace and their loud conversation about something possibly heavily scientific is making his head pound unpleasantly.

He hadn't even been in the mood to socialize or drink but he'd still felt a need to come here. His headache already felt marginally better and he might not be able to sleep.

Leonard drains the last of his beer and leaves a generous tip on the counter before sliding off. “Night, Sara,” he says, pitching his voice just loud enough for her to hear and then ducks towards the door. Sara's returned farewell follows him out.

 

* * *

 

Leonard frowns at the brown-coated lump on the steps leading up to his apartment building and resists the urge to nudge it with his foot. Barely. His head hurts way too much to deal with this shit. “Quit sleeping on my steps,” he says.

The lump shifts and a resentful brown eye looks at him over the rim of the probably once nice jacket. Leonard thinks he might still be able to get a decent price for it if he was tempted to steal it. Which he kind of is. “I live in this building,” the lump-turned-man says crisply in an accented voice that Leonard doesn't care enough to try and place.

“Are you sure?” Leonard asks snidely. “Could've fooled me.”

“An ass as always, I see,” the man mutters under his breath, rocking to stand somewhat unsteadily on his feet, still looking baleful.

Leonard narrows his eyes. “What was that?”

“I said, you're quite the ass, aren't you?” He repeats in a louder voice. “Now excuse me.” And with that, the disheveled man walks down the steps.

Leonard stands there and watches the other man until he turns the corners and disappears from sight.

His head aches.

 

* * *

 

The barista at the coffee shop has passed by his table five times in the last ten minutes, the last two times with a broom that he knows for a fact had been used to sweep the floors not even an hour ago. He's beginning to get suspicious.

The coffee shop itself is right across the street from an art studio that is hosting a gala to show off the new piece of art on loan. A painting that will mysteriously vanish a day before, if he has his way.

The barista is distracting him, though. If it wasn't for the engagement ring on her finger (three carats, princess setting, white-gold band) and the square-jawed man that stopped in earlier just to kiss her, he would expect her phone number scrawled on his next cup of coffee. He still hasn't ruled it out.

“Can I get you anything else?” She's back again, blonde-streaked dark curls bouncing even after she stops. “A refill?”

“No.” He grits his teeth and his head pounds. Probably because of all the coffee he has had to drink while he scopes out his next job.

The girl's cheerfulness doesn't waver. “Okay, well, let me know if that changes.”

A few minutes later, a new large cup of coffee made just the way he likes it appears at his elbow, his name scrawled messily on it. His _real_ name.

His headache grows worse and when he looks up at the counter, the barista is gone.

 

* * *

 

Leonard has a bad feeling about this.

The kid in front of him has the open kind of face that probably makes him terrible at poker and automatically on Leonard's shit list.

Regardless of how Mick had sworn by this kid, Leonard is still tempted to turn around and walk away. If it wasn't for the fact that a getaway car is useless without being able to do the 'get away' part, he would.

He has the distinct feeling that he is going to get the cops on his tail the moment he turns his back, despite how Mick had _sworn_ by the fact the kid was trustworthy. How Mick supposedly knew this kid when Leonard had never heard of him before now is a topic for another time.

“Yeah, man, I can hook you up,” the kid says, wiping dirty hands on a grease stained rag. “See, it looks like you just need a new transductor.”

“A _what_?”

The kid gives him a weird look. “A _transmission_. You all right, man?”

“Fine,” he mutters and rubs his temple when his head pounds. “How much is this gonna cost?”

The kid shrugs. “On the house. I owe Mick a favor so don't worry about it.”

His bad feeling niggles at the back of his mind but he nods cautiously. He's willing to trust Mick on this, this time. It is rare that Mick vouches for anyone as much as he did this kid. If he had ever done it before.

“Okay,” Leonard says. “Give me a call when it's done.”

The kid shakes his hand. “No problem, man.” Leonard finds himself taking the hand extended to him, to his surprise, and the kid's name tag gleams _'Jax'_ at him.

 

* * *

 

His head feels like it may implode in on itself and Leonard pulls the pillow over his head in a feeble attempt to block the last of the light that is seeping in through the blinds of his window. It doesn't do anything to ease the throbbing in his skull and he eventually manages to fall into a twilight of sleep.

At some point, a hand presses lightly against his forehead. It's too small to be Mick and too callused to be Lisa but it's gone before he is drawn towards waking. He drifts.

“He doesn't have a fever.” The voice is vaguely familiar though the fog but the tinge of worry in it isn't.

“His headaches are getting worse.” There's Mick, though fainter, as if at a distance. “He's too stubborn to say but I've seen it.”

“Stubborn ass,” the mysterious voice says, sounding oddly fond. The sentiment is echoed by Mick as he and the mystery voice grow quiet.

He sleeps.

 

* * *

 

“Who was here last night?” Leonard asks the next morning when his headache are quieted to a dull roar and he is able to think again.

Mick is standing at the half busted stove that is probably older than he is attempting to make breakfast. Leonard had forgotten that he could cook, and the realization disturbs him. “What? No one,” he says, and Leonard can't tell his tone.

“There was,” he says. “A woman. I heard her.”

Mick turns to look at him and his expression is skeptical. “I told you, Snart,” he tells him again. “No one here but us. Might've heard the tv.”

He's lying. Mick has a poker face almost as good as Leonard's own, but he's lying. Leonard decides to let it go. For now. “All right,” he says, settling back into the rickety chair. “If you say so.”

He doesn't miss the brief flash of relief on Mick's face as he turns back to the stove.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Snart,” Sara says as he slides onto his favorite stool. Her hair is pulled back tonight, revealing the long length of her pale neck, made paler by her black t-shirt. He thinks she would look better in white.

“Sara,” he says, continuing their traditional greeting.

She ignores the drunk sitting at the other end of the bar looking mournfully at the taps and grabs a bottle of his favorite beer as she moves over to him. “You look like shit,” she says, blue-grey eyes running over his face. She leans over onto the counter and he looks away from the length of her neck.

“Rough day,” he says simply, pressing his fingertips into the temple that aches the most.

Sara looks at him for a moment and then reaches into the apron tied at her hips to pull out a pill bottle that she slides to him. It's full when he picks it up and he gives her a suspicious look. She looks amused and raises an eyebrow at him. “I work in a dive five nights a week,” she says. “You think I don't get headaches?”

“Fair enough,” he admits after a moment and after a moment he shakes out two pills and swallows them with a pull from his beer. “Thanks.”

She eventually has to wander back down to the drunk now waving feebly for her attention and tells him to keep the bottle when he tries to slide it back. It's an oddly reassuring lump against him inside his jacket.

He lingers long after he finishes his beer, watching Sara out of the corner of his eye even when she is too busy to come back over.

“Go home and sleep, Leonard,” she says to him when he is starting to grow rather fuzzy around the edges due to the pills she gave him. His migraine feels muffled now, as if it is behind a veil, and he blinks at her for a moment when she comes from behind the counter to help him off the stool. “I called Mick to come get you.”

How did Sara know Mick?

Mick's huge hand curled under Leonard's elbow to help support him. “Never could hold your liquor,” he rumbles.

“He only had one beer,” Sara says, sounding amused. “I did give him some pills for his headache, though.”

“Ah,” Mick says. “Thanks, Sara.”

“Later, Mick,” she replies. “Bye, Leonard.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up feeling hungover but his head is blissfully quiet and he even manages to eat something without being sick.

“How do you know Sara?” He asks, attempting to sound nonchalant and falling short. Mick gives him a look and must like whatever he must see because he snorts out a laugh and pulls out two beers.

“Relax,” Mick says, handing him one and sprawling out on the couch. “I'm not after your girlfriend. Sara used to work at an old bar I went to.”

_Sara is not my girlfriend_ , he wants to say, but doesn't. He thinks of the pale skin of her neck and shoulders and his throat feels tight.

 

* * *

 

It's only later that he realizes where the mysterious woman that was in the apartment sounded familiar.

Why was Sara in their apartment? 

 

* * *

 

The pills stop working after a while.

He goes from two pills, to three, to four but doesn't dare go any higher once he looks up the effects of too much. They still make him fuzzy so he doesn't notice the pain as much, though, so he keeps taking them.

Mick begins giving him worried looks when he thinks .

 

* * *

 

And then he blacks out during a fucking _job_.

His head aches all the time now and he takes the pills before they leave but it isn't enough to alleviate his pain and he doesn't dare take more and risk losing his edge. It's enough to where he even calls in Lisa to help pick up the slack that he can't carry.

It isn't enough.

He decides on his own to stay behind and coordinate from behind the scenes because he isn't sure he can trust himself out in the field. Lisa and Mick manage to infiltrate the scene easily (and he knows he shouldn't be proud of her in this aspect, but he is, _oh_ , he is).

It's when he's having them navigate back that his headache swells up worse than it has ever been and he is overwhelmed. He thinks he might say something, might be screaming but he is drowning, dying, gone–

The floor rises up to meet him.

 

* * *

 

He comes to in a bed and with the faint smell of coconut in his nose. There are gentle fingers massaging his scalp that keep him from waking up fully. He must shift or make a noise because the fingers stop and a familiar raspy voice is quiet in his ear. “Leonard?”

_Sara_.

His hand feels too clumsy when he tries to reach out and touch her but she seems to get what he needs because a moment later slender fingers link with his. “Thank god,” she says, voice sounding weirdly wet. “You had us all worried.”

He doesn't feel up to talking yet but he thinks he manages to give a reassuring squeeze to her fingers nonetheless.

His head aches and he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

He only floats to the surface of consciousness the next time. Only enough to hear Sara and Mick arguing with someone else. The voice is only vaguely familiar but the frustration is intimately familiar.

“He's getting worse,” Sara says, sounding angry. The kind of anger that results in someone getting a bo staff smashed into their nose.

He doesn't know where that thought comes from.

“This was supposed to be reconnaissance only,” the vaguely familiar voice says, and the accent in it niggles.

“That was blown out of the water when you decided to rent an apartment in our building, genius,” Mick rumbles dangerously and he knows where he recognizes the voice from now. The homeless man on the stoop.

“Clearly, he isn't adjusting as well as we thought he would to the present day,” Sara interjects. “Gideon showed me his brain scans and I am not a neurologist but I'm pretty sure that much red isn't a good thing.”

Who the hell is Gideon and why are they taking scans of his brain?

“What would you have me do?” The homeless man asks, exasperated.

“We've already figured out that he isn't the Leonard Snart of this day, he's from the future. _Our_ future,” Sara says. “So bring him back on the team.”

“No,” the man disagrees. “The point still stands that he doesn't remember us and probably won't.”

“I'm not leaving him.” Sara's voice is resolute and Leonard knows instinctively that she is telling the truth.

“Neither am I,” Mick echoes the sentiment. Leonard has the briefest mental image of Sara with Mick behind her and both of them battle-ready before the image slips away like the ocean at low tide.

“Captain,” a crisply feminine voice interrupts them then. “Mr. Snart seems to have woken up. Perhaps it would be wise to continue this conversation later?”

Gentle fingers, Sara's fingers, press gently against his forehead a moment later. “Leonard?” She asks. “I'm going to give to you some more medicine so you'll sleep.”

He doesn't have a chance to respond before everything goes fuzzy again and his thoughts go syrup thick.

He floats away again.

 

* * *

 

He sleeps for a long time, with only the occasional moment of enough clarity to recognize the voices that filter in and out.

The two men arguing in Sara's bar seem to be there the most after Sara and Mick. He wishes they wouldn't.

The barista who knew his name, and an unknown person who he presumes is her fiance.

The fucking _mechanic_. Leonard knew that wholesome act was too good to be true.

The homeless guy is there the least, which Leonard is completely fine with.

Sara is arguably there the most, and she always seems to hold his hand when she is, which he doesn't mind at all and even appreciates in his rare, briefly lucid moments. The idea that she has his back even when he's down for the count is a comforting one.

Mick is there almost as much as Sara is, and usually at the same time. He doesn't talk as much as anyone else but he's reassuring despite that.

 

* * *

 

The first time he comes to fully, he's by himself. It gives him a moment to reorient himself and figure out where, exactly, he's been. It is apparently the med bay out of Star Trek, with a glossy, almost chromatic finish to it.

He's more surprised by the fact that for the first time in what seems like forever, his head doesn't bother him. After so long of constant pain, he feels almost empty without it.

He can't say he minds all that much.

The barista all but bounces into his room but immediately pauses when she realizes he's awake. “Um,” she says delicately. Leonard stares at her.

“I'd like to see Sara,” he informs her flatly.

“Gideon will let her know,” she says, visibly recovering herself before stepping further into the room. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

Rather than being put off by his short tone, she smiles. “Same old Leonard.”

“Have we met?” He asks, tone as rude as he can manage. He wants her to leave.

“Don't worry,” she says, letting his bad attitude roll off of her. “You'll remember.” And then she ducks back out.

“What,” Leonard asks the empty room, “have I forgotten?”

“A lot.” Sara enters. Her hair is loose around her face and wet and it looks like she had gotten out of the shower in a hurry. He tries to feel bad and mostly just lands on smug. She looks tired but the smile she offers him is genuine. “Welcome back.”

“Glad to be back,” he says, even if he is still not sure where 'back' is. “Where am I?”

“Medbay,” she tells him. “How's the head?”

“All better.” The urge to ask what happened bubbles to his lips but he manages to swallow it down.

Sara is a mind-reader, apparently. “Most of it is a story for another time, but you were out of place in time and in your own past.” She shrugs, deceivingly nonchalant about it, though he spots the faint tremor to her hands in her lap. A tell. “The potential paradox was causing your migraine.”

“Huh.” It sounds like completely horseshit to him, but he knows Sara wouldn't lie to him about this.

She quirks a smile at him. “Congratulations, you're time-sensitive now.”

“Lucky me,” he says as dryly as he can manage.

The grin she gives him makes something in his stomach tighten. Sara gets to her feet and fluffs his pillow. “I'll get you something to eat,” she says.

Immediately, he realizes that he is _starving_ and it must show on his face from Sara's face.

She leaves and he leans back into his nicely fluffed pillow.

He's asleep by the time she comes back.

 

* * *

 

The memories come slowly and sporadically but they come.

He gets his gun back and begins sparring with Mick and playing card games with Sara and he gains something back he didn't even realize he was missing.

“Welcome back, Mr. Snart,” the crisply feminine voice that he now remembers is Gideon greets him the first time he steps back onto the main deck. He slumps down into a chair and stares at the hologram screensaver rising up from the middle of it for a moment.

He is both Leonard Snart of the past and the future and he is still working on stitching them together. He's pretty sure he has all of his memories back, and it is just a matter of figuring out where they lay with the memories of their crappy apartment with the team watching out for him.

Sara finds him before long and she has a deck of cards in her hand. They play gin with the holograms glowing off the faces and in their eyes. “How are you feeling?” She asks, like she has taken to even though he's long since been cleared fine by Gideon and a pinched-looking Rip.

“Fine,” he says like he always does. “Just dealing with the new memories.” He no longer feels the same reserve about confiding that he once did.

She nods. “Anything I can help with?”

He pauses for a moment before answering. He has regained all of his memory, including what happened his last moments at the oculus. He looks at her through his lashes. “Possibly. It seems like I'm one hell of a thief?”

Her face is blank for a moment before it lights up and she laughs. She places her hand down but he doesn't even attempt to look at her cards. The moment isn't tense, surprisingly, just comfortable.

At some point, they had moved closer to each other and her thigh presses warmly against his own. “Yes,” she says. “But this you don't have to steal.”

Her lips are warm when she presses them against his and a final missing piece slots into place when he slides his hand into her hair to pull her closer.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't realize until I was most of the way done with this that this is kind of similar to _remember, remember_ but hopefully not too much??
> 
> I realize this is kind of vague on everything and I'm kind of thinking about making a companion to this from Sara's pov. Maybe.
> 
> Come talk to me at [tumblr](tititilani.tumblr.com)!


End file.
